


Dry Clean Only

by A_bit_not_good_yeah



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Deepthroating, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Y'all this is shameless PWP for real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_bit_not_good_yeah/pseuds/A_bit_not_good_yeah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q leaned in and brushed a light kiss against Bond’s lips, a ghost of a promise, and when Bond tried to deepen the kiss, Q pulled away to whisper in Bond’s ear, “I know you hate this suit. Show me how you plan to ruin it.”</p><p> </p><p>In which Q and Bond have a disagreement over the way Q cares for his suits, which they settle with gratuitous sex in a bathroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dry Clean Only

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chemicaldefect](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemicaldefect/gifts).



> I don't even know what is wrong with me. I texted this to Sarah (the fabulous chemicaldefect and the other half of our epic girlmance) WHILE WE WERE AT WORK. She had done the same to me a couple weeks ago and I vowed to pay her back and...this happened. It's so dirty, you guys. I typed it up basically as is, so any mistakes are mine, etc. etc.
> 
> *whispers* sorry not sorry.

Bond shoved Q against the wall of the bathroom, hard. A huff of air escaped Q’s lips and Bond stole it away, claiming the very breath from Q’s lungs with a fierce kiss. Q whimpered as his hips bucked fruitlessly, pinned in place by Bond’s hands firm and hot on each of Q’s hipbones.

 

“Do you know how infuriating you are in that suit?” Bond hissed against the thin skin over Q’s pulse point. His quartermaster chuckled low in his throat, but it turned into a quiet moan when Bond leaned into him, blanketing him in searing heat and hard muscle. Bond was using his whole body in counterpoint to Q’s, slowly grinding against him so that every nerve ending from Q’s knees to his chest was alight.

 

“You love it,” Q whispered, and then brought his hands up to scrape his blunt nails along Bond’s scalp. He couldn’t leverage Bond’s weight, so instead he sought to use his limited range of motion to tease. Q leaned in and brushed a light kiss against Bond’s lips, a ghost of a promise, and when Bond tried to deepen the kiss, Q pulled away to whisper in Bond’s ear, “I know you hate this suit. Show me how you plan to ruin it.”

 

Q felt Bond’s hips stutter at his words and grinned as he pressed his lips to the skin just under Bond’s jaw. He knew he was getting under Bond’s skin, which was his favorite activity, but his smugness was short-lived. Bond released his bruising grip on Q’s hips and slid his thigh into the gap between Q’s legs, grinding torturously slowly against the hard length he found there.

 

“I want your mouth,” Bond groaned as he left a trail of sloppy open-mouthed kisses along the line of Q’s jaw, scraping his teeth on the sensitive skin of Q’s throat. Q used the hand in Bond’s hair to yank his head back sharply and then he kissed Bond deep and dirty and perfect. Q could have stayed there forever, tasting this stolen moment on Bond’s tongue, but after one last nip to Bond’s lower lip, Q dropped to his knees instead.

 

Making quick work of Bond’s flies, Q shoved the agent’s pants and trousers down, and without preamble, he swallowed down the full length of Bond’s cock. The surprised moan that Bond released only made Q more determined and he relaxed his throat as he took Bond impossibly deeper. 007 ran his hands through Q’s hair, stroking the sleek black silk and tugging at the strands as he began to thrust into the fevered heat of Q’s talented mouth.

 

Q brought his hands up to Bond’s hips, anchoring himself and encouraging Bond to give him more, to give him everything. It was fast and messy, as Q’s tongue worked against the underside of Bond’s cock and his lips formed a tight ring around the base so he could maintain the perfect amount of suction. Bond stared down at the lushness of Q’s lips, flushed red and stretched around his prick, as he felt Q’s throat constrict around him.

 

God, Bond loved this. The feeling of Q’s mouth around him was as addicting as any adrenaline rush Bond had ever chased. Q’s breath was coming in short, hot bursts through his nose and there was heat blooming in his chest where he was struggling to breathe, but he didn’t care. He was watching Bond’s face and savoring every small gasp and groan that he was wringing from the agent. His eyes began to water as Bond’s thrusts became brutally quick, each snap of hips pushing little broken sounds of pleasure from Q’s abused throat.

 

Bond watched as a tear tracked its way across one of Q’s sharp cheekbones and he felt a hot twist in his gut at the sight—it was almost criminal how debauched, how utterly wrecked Q looked, and how much Bond loved seeing him like this.

 

“Fuck, Q…’m close,” Bond gritted out as Q’s grip on his hips continued to pull him in deeper. Q’s throat worked and Bond choked out a broken “please” that caused Q to pull off suddenly and replace his mouth with a firm hand, stroking Bond ruthlessly while his other hand pressed a cool fingertip against Bond’s perineum. Bond broke apart, painting Q’s open mouth, his jaw, and the smooth column of his throat with come.

 

Bond shook with aftershocks for a few seconds but the sight of Q smearing the come along the line of his jaw with a shaky fingertip and then licking the digit clean was enough to sharpen the edges of Bond’s post-orgasm haze. He gripped the wrinkled lapels of Q’s suit jacket—the garment which had gotten them here in the first place—and pulled Q to his feet for a heady kiss, tasting his quartermaster’s aching need underneath the bitter tang of his own come still clinging to Q’s lips.

 

Bond slid one hand to curl around the back of Q’s neck, and the other popped the button of Q’s rumpled trousers roughly. Q was helpless against the onslaught of Bond’s mouth and hands, pinned against the wall. He heard the fabric of his suit trousers tear as Bond shoved them down along with his pants, just far enough to release his neglected cock. Bond trailed his fingers through some of the come smeared on Q’s throat, and used his now slick hand to stroke Q’s aching prick slowly from root to tip. It was so undeniably filthy that Q was almost breathless, and he moaned into Bond’s mouth weakly. Bond was relentless—he continued to kiss Q deeply, fucking his tongue into Q’s mouth as his hand worked firmly up and down Q’s length with slick, hot strokes.

 

Q could feel every inch of his skin growing hotter until he was on the verge of supernova and then with one twist of Bond’s wrist he was coming with a sob, fracturing apart under the weight of James Bond. Bond broke the kiss finally, and Q took a shaky breath as he grinned up at the agent.

 

“Well, you certainly ruined the suit,” Q said hoarsely. As Bond laughed and gave him a quick peck on the lips, Q vowed to forget to take his clothes to the dry cleaners more often.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, for those of you waiting for the conclusion to "Mutually Assured Destruction," please know that I am so close to being done and I hope to post very soon! Thank you for reading and for your lovely comments, and most of all, for your patience. I hope the wait is worth it :-}


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